


How Sam Anders Got His Groove Back

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: fluff_friday, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-26
Updated: 2008-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"From where I'm standing, you look more like a longshot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Sam Anders Got His Groove Back

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Late S3  
> A/N: Happy [**fluff_friday**](http://community.livejournal.com/fluff_friday/)! I realized the other day that I'm really going to miss the sets and the physical spaces on Galactica, when the show is over. The ready room, the briefing room, the flight deck, Adama's quarters, the officers' bunk, CIC, Colonial One...oh, the list goes on and on. Anyway, here's a mostly happy little bit of fluff about how Anders got his callsign.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Sam tried to sit up straight in his chair and look like he was paying attention on his first day of basic flight, but really he was looking around the briefing room. On the way in, he'd passed a copy of that photo of the unknown pilot watching the destruction on Aerelon. The wall around it was grubby. Racetrack had told them to touch it on their way out to a mission. There was the board, with Kara's callsign still in the corner, erased, but visible. That hurt, but not as much as it had before, now that he had something to do. The day after he'd enlisted was the first day he'd woken up and felt alive. The best way to miss her was to make something of himself. How many hours had Kara spent in here? Not to mention Helo and Hot Dog and Racetrack and hell, Lee. Had they been this nervous, their first times? He shifted in the half-uncomfortable seat, wondering how many nuggets had tapped their fingers on the little desk before he had. A lot, he guessed.

"Ensign Anders!" He sat up guiltily. Racetrack was glaring at him. It was funny to see little bitty put-her-in-your-pocket Racetrack bellowing like her life ambition was to make Saul Tigh cry.

"Sir?"

"You gonna pay attention when I talk, nugget, or was your wife not the only hotshot in your family?" she snapped. "'Cause let me tell you, from where I'm standing, you look more like a longshot."

"Sorry, sir."

"Not good enough, Longshot."

He tried to look abashed and not to laugh at the fury on her face. Standing up straight, she still only would come up to his chest. On the other hand, she had more than enough authority to make up for her pint size height. "Sorry, god, sir."

"The first rule of basic flight is that my word is law," Racetrack reminded them. "I will do all of your thinking for you for the next few weeks. I catch any of you all dreamy-eyed, you're not gonna see the inside of a cockpit for a lot longer. Got it?"

"Wilco, sir," Sam muttered. Racetrack narrowed her eyes at him and then went back to the diagram on the board.

"Way to go, Longshot," Seelix said, leaning over to him.

"Hey!" Racetrack whirled. "You wanna play hardball, Seelix? 'Cause I can do this all day. Every minute you waste is gonna be a minute I take off your life and your flight time."

"Nosir, sorry, sir," Seelix said all in one breath.

"Knowing your plane is the difference between life and death," Racetrack announced. "Before you ever get near one of my birds, you're gonna be able to draw this thing with your eyes closed. Now, these are the features of the Raptors you'll be starting in."

She dragged them through what felt like weeks of staring at minute details of the Raptor schematics before she nodded and cut them loose. He got up, shaking out his stiff legs. "Anders! Stay where you are."

He waited in front of her podium, shifting from foot to foot, as she shouted a few final instructions. "Hey," she said finally when the others had filed out. "That crack about Kara was out of line. Sorry."

He shrugged. "She's gone, sir. Nothing I can do about it. I just wanna fly. I'm sure she wouldn't have gone easy on me."

She looked him over. "You're gonna be fine. Get out of my briefing room. I'll see you at 0800."

"I'll see you at Joe's," he corrected, and she smirked.

"Out, I said."

He sauntered out to the bar. "Hey, Longshot!"

"Can't believe you got your callsign on your first day, man," one of the other nuggets grumbled. "All this military stuff confuses me. It's like some weird club where they don't tell you the rules but everybody knows them. What if I get a stupid callsign?"

"Start calling yourself Frakface and avoid the rush," Sam said, leaning on the bar and tapping two fingers at Joe, who nodded and slid a drink over the counter.

"Just be glad you've got Racetrack," Seelix said. "Starbuck shouted even louder. She was a vengeful god." She lifted her glass in salute.

"Shut up or I'll start playing hardball," Sam said, but a smile tugged at his lips, and by the time he'd toasted Kara's memory, he was grinning.

"Longshot!" Racetrack clapped him on the back. "You big old Pyramid hero. Come show me how the game is played."

Sam pushed up off the bar and followed her over to the goal. "I keep telling you, this is nothing like the real game."

"Yeah, yeah, you sports stars are all the same," Racetrack said, rolling her eyes. "Stop making excuses and show me what you've got."

Sam weighed the ball in his hands, thinking of Kara, how they'd played the game on Caprica. He'd loved the fire in her then, wanted more even if it would burn them both to ashes. Maybe he'd never fill the space she'd left, but he'd learn to fly. He'd put his footsteps next to hers on the deck. It was gonna be fine. He lined up his shot and slammed the ball through the air: it rattled into the basket, a perfect goal.


End file.
